Ni Sfo Ssen E Vigrof
by Gift of the Dragons
Summary: 'Resting mismatched hands against the cool glass, he stared into the product of his nightmares, the fruits of his labors; staring back were his greatest regrets, his foremost desires.' Pre-COS, one-shot.


Title: Ni Sfo Ssen E Vigrof

Author: Gift of the Dragons

Word Count: nine-three-two

* * *

Obscure Legends and Myths of the Twentieth Century

Richard Avalon

Fifth Edition Reprint

* * *

_Click_. _Click_. _Click_.

His shoes echoed against the stones, a soothing mantra that eased his mind slightly of the whirlwind thoughts that had recently taken residence.

_Click_. _Click_. _Click_.

He hurried past a suit of armor, unnoticing of the attentive stance it had taken, but felt his heart wrench anyways.

_Click_. _Cli– Scree-clank-click_.

Pausing in his stride, stormy mindset broken, he perked his head up, resisting the urge to turn.

_Clank-rattle_. _Clank-rattle_. _Clank-rattle_.

He felt his heart sink, chest aching as the armored head lowered itself to eye-level, twin crimson fires smoldering behind the mask of iron and steel.

_Scree-shh_. _Scree-shh_. _Scree-shh_.

Worn leather rubbed against the cold metal, joints protesting as the suit removed its helm, revealing the bloody cross painted on the interior of the chest plate.

_"Why, brother?"_

* * *

Due to the Muggle war during the early nineteenth century, very few articles of literature have survived the damages wrought by fire and war. Certain records have been kept, especially those hidden away in institutions, such as Hogwarts, the British school of magical education for budding witches and wizards, but there are woefully low numbers regarding the legends and myths of the previous century.

One such tale, whose credibility and origins are widely disputed, are those of the _Mirror of Erised_.

* * *

_Thump-thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump._

Heavy breathing, pounding heart, shaking hands that brushed back mussed hair away from wide, unseeing eyes.

_Thump-thump-scuree-thump. Thump-thump-scuree-thump. Thump-thump-scuree-thump._

The frantic tattoo slowed as he rocked back and forth, more for the eased pattern than the relief it would have brought someone of a younger age.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Whoosh_.

A sigh released itself from his lips as he recalled the nightmare, the haunting image of the glowing eyes, the blood seal that had burned itself into his retinas, lingering in his dreams; the dreaded question that he could never answer.

_Creak_. _Puff-thump_. _Puff-thump_.

Mistmatched footsteps followed him out of the room, into the stone hall that so greatly resembled the one in his dreams, dredging a shudder from his bones before it was banished by an iron will.

_Thump-clunk_. _Thump-clunk_. _Thump-clunk_.

Steel banged against stone as he hurrieddown the corridor, turning into an open room and stopping before the mercurial pane.

_Click_. _Click_. _Click_.

Metal fingers rested against the mirror, tracing the silhouette of a figure none but he could see, one that smiled while the eyes begged for release.

* * *

The _Mirror of Erised_ is a mythical mirror, as its name implies; most legends tell that the purpose of the mirror is to show the greatest longings of the viewer, naturally making it a volatile artefact. If one was to gaze upon the mirror, they stood the chance of losing their lives to their regrets or desires, doomed to stare at their wishes until they died of dehydration, starvation, or whatever afflictions presented themselves. A solid fact that makes its appearance in every known version of the tale is the enscription upon the heading border:

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi._

It takes little effort to translate the phrase:

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi._

_Erised straeh ruoy tub ecaf ruoy ton wohs i._

_I show not your face but your hearts desire._

* * *

_Hereee_. _Heereeeee_. _Heeereeeeeee_.

The wood complained as it was dragged across the stone, a scratchy, whiny sound that clawed at his ears, and he was glad that it had not yet been gilded.

_Th-think. Th-think_. _Clunk_.

Standing up the frame, he measured the empty cavity that reached higher than he stood, up towards the unforgiving heavens.

_Clap_. _Crackle_. _Flash_.

Spreading from the middle, out towards all four corners like a volcanic eruption in slow motion, the silvery lava solidified, crystalized into a single flawless pane, one that showed not its creator.

_Clap_. _Crackle_. _Flash_.

Another touch yielded a golden edge to the wood, hiding the murky brown beneath a dull glitter that ended at the clawed feet of the stand.

_Clap_. _Crackle_. _Scree_.

The aureate metal peeled back from itself with a cry, stripping down in layers that resembled paint rotting off the side of a burning house, forming nonsense words while golden chips futtered to the ground, hesitant upon the airy cushion that slowed their fall.

_Rustle_. _Pff_. _Chi-tink_.

Resting mismatched hands against the cool glass, he stared into the product of his nightmares, the fruits of his labors; staring back were his greatest regrets, his foremost desires.

* * *

While the true origins of the _Mirror of Erised _are not known, whether as artefact or falsity, no two accounts agree on the circumstances that birthed it. The first written publishing on the subject can be traced back to the famed wizard and alchemist Von Hohenheim, who accredited his unnamed son with the _Mirror_'s creation in his work _Vergebung der Sünde_ (Forgiveness of Sin), as a dually motivated act of penance and amnesty for an alleged mistake he had performed during his childhood; Hohenheim wrote that his son faced night terrors in his adult years and, inspired by unknown means, created the mirror to relieve himself of his regret.

Whether the tale is true or false is not known. Von Hohenheim, while praised for his accurate journals and publishings in the magical world, was a largely unknown character and no reliable records of his family or his own origins exist. Whether he had a son, and his supposed crimes are a matter of great debate, especially as what crime could have been committed to drive any wizard to create a powerful, profound artefact.

* * *

_"Why, brother?"_

* * *

Edit: Fixed formatting errors. Added titles to introduction, 'Title,' etc.

Author's Notes:

1. I do not own FMA or its affiliates.

2. 'Richard Avalon' is fictional.

3. Writer's block.

4. For those unlikely people that have read _Amaranthine_: yes, I am continuing it. No, I don't know when Arc Three will be done.

If you have further questions/comments, read note number three. If you still have further questions/comments, please PM me. (It's impossible to respond to anonymous comments via a one-shot.)


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